


Breadcrumbs

by MaxWrite



Series: The That James Series [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Harry Potter RPF
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M, POV First Person, RPF, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-19
Updated: 2005-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James talks to his shrink about his relationship and the afternoon he spent with his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breadcrumbs

“There’s no one else on earth that can touch me like he does. He’s perfect for me. I should’ve realized … I mean, all those problems we used to have, that was all my fault. I was … stupid.”

“Used to have? They’re all gone now?”

“Well, maybe. The last week’s been … quite nice to say the least.”

“Well, let’s just go back and see what you’ve said in the past, shall we?”

I picked at imaginary hangnails while my shrink flipped through my file.

“Hmm,” she began, her eyebrows knitted together, “‘he’s too _into_ me’, ‘he’s too touchy-feely’, ‘he’s always complimenting me’, ‘he never gets angry’, ‘he’s too _nice’._ Humph.”

I hate it when she makes that noise. I didn’t need her making that noise to tell me that that list didn’t sound bad at all. What can I do? That stuff used to get on my nerves.

“It must say _something_ in there about that time he set my hamster free.”

“You’ve been seeing me for ten years, James. And when you said ‘I was stupid’, it was the first time I’ve ever heard you _not_ blaming someone else for your relationship problems.”

“Er, really?”

She nodded.

“I always blamed him, didn’t I?”

She nodded again.

“So, what’s changed?” she asked.

“Well …” I began, unable to keep the grin off my face.

“You look different,” she observed with a bit of a frown. “You’re wearing a turtleneck. I thought you didn’t like them.”

“Yes, well, people change. My brother likes them, so I thought I’d borrow one from him and, uh, try it out.”

That was a clue, doc.

“And you look so happy. It’s a little disconcerting.”

“Very funny. Well, I am happy, I guess. He sort of, um, took control, as it were.”

“Oh?”

“He finally stood up to me.”

“Well, good for him. He’s been taking your crap for more than a decade.”

“I know.”

She cocked an eyebrow at me.

“You always knew you were treating him poorly.” It wasn’t a question.

“Course I did.”

“You pretended you didn’t. Even up until our last session when, far as I knew, things were the same between you two.”

“Did you believe me? Did you believe I wasn’t aware?”

The lone eyebrow went up again.

“No, of course you didn’t,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“So, he took control then. How so?”

“Well, he … tackled me, pinned me down and slapped me.”

Both her eyebrows went up this time.

“I was being an arse again, you see …”

“No kidding. He slapped you?”

“Um, yes, but it wasn’t serious, it was just a, uh … kinky thing.”

“I see.”

“He made some demands, told me I was to do as I was told, that sort of thing.”

“Mm. And how did you feel about that?”

“It turned me on. Immensely. He’s, uh, very good at being, uh … dominant.”

“He was always the top though, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, but personality-wise, he was hardly the take-control type. But last week … wow. He really showed me something.”

“You’ve gained some respect for him then.”

“That and so much more.”

I lowered my face, trying to hide my contented little smile so she wouldn’t know that all we’d been doing was fucking 24-7. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but I’ve noticed that shrinks tend to put a lot of emphasis on _talking._ And Ollie and I _have_ been talking … a bit.

“So, what’s the last week been like?”

I looked back up at her, my lower lip between my teeth.

“Well,” I said. “Just this morning, actually …”

I woke up the most pleasant way one can wake up; soft, diffused sunlight coming in through the window, and me surrounded by warmth and the faint scent of my lover. I buried my nose in the pillows, pulling the sheets up over my head. I hadn’t been home in a week. I never wanted to go back.

“Good morning,” said a quiet, deep voice. I smiled and peeked over the top of the duvet. Oliver was standing next to the bed, staring down at me, his hands clasped behind his back. He was holding something back there, I just knew it. Something for me. An excited little shiver went up my spine.

Oliver is genuinely good. He’s kind and generous and has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. And you can see all that in his eyes, I think. I know some of you have seen it. But while you were admiring all that goodness dancing round in his pupils, did you happen to notice what a kinky bugger he is? I didn’t. I never saw it. Not until about a week ago.

As I stared up into his eyes that morning, all I saw was kink. It’s a very subtle difference from how he normally looks, but I still dunno how I missed it all these years. Guess I just wasn’t paying attention. And it’s not like he’s really shown it to me before now.

He beckoned me toward him with a little lop-sided grin. I crawled on over, sitting on my knees before him, and staring up at him expectantly. He brushed my hair aside and bent over and kissed my forehead, one hand still concealed behind him.

“Did you sleep well?” He always asks that. It doesn’t bother me anymore. I like it now.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Are you hungry?”

I shook my head.

“Did you want some coffee or tea or something?”

I rolled my eyes.

“I’ve been here a week, Ol. I know where everything is if I want something.”

“Impatient this morning, aren’t we?”

“Yes, dammit!” I laughed, and he laughed a little as well.

“Would you like me to kiss you then?”

“Yes, please.”

“Well, you know what to do,” he said calmly. “Ask me properly.”

I love his voice. I always have, honestly. It’s deeper than mine, have you noticed? My heart began pounding ridiculously hard against my ribcage. I’d just woken up, and our little game had already started.

“May I please have a kiss, big brother?” I asked.

His smile broadened, making his upper lip do that sexy curl thing that it does on the left side.

“Yes, you may,” he said. He bent over again as I tilted my head back. Our lips met for the billionth time that week. His kisses have an interesting dichotomy; they can be so soft, softer than any kiss I’ve received from anyone else in my life, and yet I can still feel the passion behind them, intense and burning white-hot. I felt it then. The world seemed to stop. My groin tingled. I begged for his tongue, but he wouldn’t give it to me.

He broke the kiss and straightened up again.

“Are you ready to play with me today?” he asked.

“Yes.” I was certain he could hear my heart now.

His other hand finally made its appearance, and balancing lightly on his index finger was a black, fur-lined, leather collar. I inhaled shakily as I tried not to let my excitement show too much. It had an oval, silver tag with a pretty letter ‘J’ engraved on it.

“When did you get that?” I asked.

“Yesterday, when I said I was meeting my agent,” he said matter-of-factly. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” I said, my face breaking into a smile.

“Here, have a look.”

My hands were literally trembling as I reached up slowly and took the collar from him. It was simple, no studs or spikes or anything, about an inch and a half wide. I fingered the silver tag, staring at my initial, letting my thumb glide across it. I turned it over. Engraved in the back was a small snippet of a song that he’s always said reminds him of me. And it was signed simply ‘O’.

I bit my lip. I don’t get choked up easily, there isn’t much that genuinely touches me. This did. Here was evidence of his love and need for me - something so strong, I’d always considered it a weakness, a failing in him - etched into something that was an instrument of his newfound control over me. And somehow it only gave the collar more significance, more power over me. If those words had been engraved on anything else, a ring or the pendant of a necklace, I’m not sure they’d’ve had the same effect. I can’t explain why.

I looked up at him. I think he knew. I think he knew how those words would affect me, and he was perfectly aware that they _were_ affecting me. I could see it in his eyes. He didn’t look like he was gloating, although he certainly had the right to. He wouldn’t though, he’s not like that. He’s so forgiving, not the type to stay bitter for long. There was just this … _knowing_ look in his eyes right then.

He held his hand out and I handed the collar back. He took it in both hands and held it open, waiting for me to lean forward. I did so, and he wrapped it around my neck, fastening it in the back. It fit nicely, quite comfortable actually. The metal tag was cold against my throat. It gave me such a thrill knowing my initial was on it. I can’t explain that either.

He surveyed me, touched my hair and my cheek and my chin, then stood back a bit and just looked at me.

“You look awfully sweet like that,” he said. I could imagine; me in my collar, sitting up like an obedient little puppy. I _felt_ like an obedient little puppy.

“Up,” he said suddenly. “Come downstairs.”

I stood and followed him, naked except for my collar, down into the living room. I sat patiently on the couch while he puttered around, making coffee, getting the post, etc. He finally joined me on the couch with his coffee and the morning paper, and I watched him do the crossword. I’ve never been any good at those things.

Curled up next to him, my chin on his shoulder, I watched his brow furrow with concentration.

“Which one are you doing?” I asked.

“This one: ‘not consistent, irregular’. Seven letters.”

I thought about it for a moment.

“Erratic?” I offered uncertainly. He paused, then looked at me.

“That fits. Thank you, baby.” And he leaned over and kissed me gently. “You’re such a good boy,” he whispered. My cock twitched a bit when he said that. It was the perfect morning. I hadn’t been that happy in so long.

“He put a collar on you?”

I shifted a little in my chair.

“Yes, um, another kinky thing.”

“Clearly. And you enjoyed it?”

I could feel myself blushing.

“Well, yes.”

“James, I had no idea.”

“… Quit smirking at me like that.”

She cleared her throat.

“Well, go on then.”

The perfect morning faded into the perfect afternoon. He left for a bit with Cassie. I stayed behind, wandered round his house, showered, took care of some business online, rolled round in his bed, snogged his underpants a bit and put on a shirt he’d been wearing the previous day. He finally returned. I heard the door unlock downstairs, and I hurried down the meet him. Cassie greeted me quite happily. She doesn’t growl when I touch her anymore.

“Matt and Dev are going to some club tonight,” I said as I scratched Cassie’s ears. “They want to know if we’re up to joining them … Ol?”

I straightened up and looked at him. He didn’t look at me. I followed him into the kitchen, where he tossed his keys onto the table and started looking in drawers for something.

“Nearly stepped in gum on my way home,” he said, sifting through his cutlery drawer. “Didn’t, but I nearly did. Close call, you know.”

I cocked my head, much like Cassie, and just watched him.

“Now, _I_ can’t be blamed for that,” he said, switching over to the island in the center of the kitchen. “We could blame the person who dropped the gum, but we don’t know him, so …”

Excitement coursed through me. I knew what was coming. I just didn’t understand what he was looking for.

“I think we’ll have to blame you,” he said. He finally looked up at me, still hunched over the drawer he was searching. He was glaring slightly. “And you know what that means, don’t you?”

His expression changed a bit as he looked me up and down. He straightened up.

“Did I say you could wear my shirt?” he asked with eerie calm. I looked down at the white, long-sleeved t-shirt I’d been wearing round the house since he’d left.

“I-I’m sorry,” I said timidly, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. I couldn’t stop what was coming. Nor did I want to.

His glare intensified, and he slammed the drawer, making me jump. Cassie’s a smart dog, you know. I think she knew we were only playing. She simply yawned and strolled from the room. If I didn’t know better I’d say I saw her roll her eyes.

He finally located what he was looking for. It was very thin and long, about thirty inches or so. He approached me with it, smacking his hand with it. As he got closer, I could see that it was covered with thin strips of braided leather, in alternating black and purple.

“Do you know what this is, Jamie?”

I gulped.

“Looks like a riding crop,” I said.

“Very good. Do you want to touch it?”

I did.

“Yes, please.”

He held it out to me. I took it from him and rolled it between my thumbs and index fingers. It was light and flexible. Would probably sting quite a bit.

He snatched it away abruptly, startling me. My heart was pounding again as I stared into his eyes. I’m still not used to his anger. It’s such a recent thing. I could probably count on one hand all the times he’s gotten really angry in our lifetime … till this week, of course.

“You’re still wearing my shirt,” he growled. I promptly removed it and laid it gently on the back of a nearby chair. He stepped closer to me, placing the tip of the crop beneath my chin. He began to lower it slowly, tracing an invisible line down the center of my body. It went over my collar, down my chest and my belly as he spoke softly in my ear.

“You’ve always been a bit of a pain in my arse, haven’t you?”

I gulped again and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up!” he barked, slapping my thigh with the crop. I flinched and gasped. He clamped his hand over my mouth, slamming my head back against the wall.

“You are not to move. And I don’t want to hear a peep out of you, understood?”

I nodded.

“Let me ask you something; do you have any idea -”

_Whack!_

“- what it’s been like for me -”

_Whack!_

“- being your twin, hm?”

 _Whack! Whack! Whack!_ He was hitting my thigh in the same spot every time, and that spot was starting to sting.

“You attention-seeking -”

_Whack!_

“- immature -”

_Whack!_

“- self-absorbed -”

_Whack!_

“- insensitive little shite.”

_Whack! Whack! Whack!_

My leg moved a fraction of an inch. It was barely perceptible. But he noticed.

He looked me in the eye. He was mere inches from my face. I could see the flecks of green in his coppery brown irises. They looked menacing. Sharp, like little shards of glass. They didn’t look like his eyes. Well, they did, but … they didn’t.

“You can’t do anything right, can you?” he said. He removed his hand from my mouth, grabbed my throat instead and squeezed.

“I asked you not to move!”

He pulled me forward and slammed my head back against the wall again. A tiny whimper escaped my significantly reduced throat.

“I asked you _not_ \- to make – a _sound!”_

_Slam!_

It was on now. It no longer mattered how much noise I made. He was going to beat me regardless. His grip on my neck grew tighter as the seconds ticked by. I clawed at his hand. My head was pounding. He simply smirked at me.

“You’re awfully pretty when you’re struggling for your life, you know.”

And he kissed me hard. I was already having quite a time breathing without him covering my mouth too. He was crushing my throat and his tongue was in my mouth, and I could feel his cock pressing against my thigh. I grabbed onto his arm, tried desperately to yank his hand away. I was getting dizzy, and with each heartbeat, it felt like the veins in my head were going to explode. But he was grinding against me, and my god, I’ve never been as aroused in my entire life as I was right then.

That is until he threw me across the kitchen table.

It’s a big, expensive wooden table, so there was no way it was going to tip over. I nearly fell off the end of it though, and the salt and pepper shakers went flying. I struggle to keep from falling. I pulled myself up and into the center of the table, gasping and massaging my throat. I looked up at him. He’d removed his shirt and was advancing on me with the crop. He stepped up onto a chair and stood towering above me, placing one foot on another chair for better balance.

“Elbows and knees, Jamie,” he said just loud enough for me to hear. I obeyed, getting up on my elbows and knees, my knees a nice distance apart, my arse in the air. He wasted no time. He started whipping me straight away.

He concentrates on one area for several minutes, saturating it with stinging pain, and when you think you can’t take it anymore, he goes for another few minutes. He finally moves on, doing the same thing in another area, and so on, until your entire bottom is glowing red and pulsing with pain. My god, he’s so good at this.

At some point, he came down off the chairs and stroked my hair as he whipped me. I was moaning, my head hanging down between my arms. I spread my knees further and arched my back, exposing myself to the crop even more.

“There, there, Jamie,” he cooed over my whimpering. “Come here. Look at me.”

He hooked his fingers underneath my collar and yanked me roughly up onto my hands. He turned my face toward his, leaned forward and kissed me, continuing to spank me as he did so. And somehow, having his tongue in my mouth made the spanking more bearable. The stinging became even more pleasurable. I guess he noticed my noises were sounding less distressful, because he took my chin between his fingers, looked me in the eye and said, “My mouth makes everything better, doesn’t it?” in that low voice that makes me quiver. I nodded dumbly and started kissing him again.

“Why do I like it so much?” I asked, knowing the question was pointless. Shrinks never give you a straight answer. You’re supposed to figure it all out on your own, blah, blah, blah.

“Why do you think you do?”

See?

“No idea. I never realized how much I liked it. I mean, the odd spanking was cool, but the collar and being all submissive? I never realized … Maybe it’s something about him, maybe … maybe it’s him.”

“Could be. Who is he to you, James?”

“Er, what?”

“What’s your relationship to him really? Where did you meet? _How_ did you meet? I believe all that stuff is somewhere in here …” She went flipping through my file again. “Ah. Yes, you’ve known each other all your lives.”

“Yeah.”

“Your parents are friends with each other.”

“Er, yes.”

“You went to the same schools, had the same friends, did the same things. You were best friends with him throughout your childhood.”

“Um, yes.”

“Humph.”

“What?”

“You two are the same age, had same status throughout your formative years, you’re almost like twins.”

 _Almost?_ Ooh, so close, doc.

“Are we now?”

“Yes. Is he larger than you?”

“No. We’re about the same height and weight.”

“Humph. Interesting. Why the sudden shift? Why are you suddenly willing to allow him to dominate you?”

I shrugged. I hadn’t thought about it.

“Well, I did start to pull away from him early on, in our teens. Maybe that’s got something to do with it?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you ever going to answer any of my questions?”

She only smiled coyly. I think ‘psychiatrist’ is derived from the Latin word which, loosely translated, means ‘to jerk around’. Or something like that.

The riding crop had landed somewhere near the dishwasher. I was in the same position, with Oliver behind me, his fingers stretching me open and lubricating me, his tongue probing me hungrily. Every now and then, he’d drag his fingernails down one of my sore cheeks, reigniting the irritated skin.

He removed his fingers, and seconds later I heard his zipper. I glanced back, wanting to see his cock before he slid inside me. He stroked it slowly, watching me watching it.

“Would you like to suck on it a little before I fuck you?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” I said, turning round and sitting on my sore left cheek. I winced as it touched the table. He removed his hand from his shaft, and I went to work, first licking the head, then sucking on it. This is one activity he doesn’t take control of. He lets me do as I like with his cock. And I’m always so good to it. I practically worship it. I get so excited having him in my mouth. I was moaning, my hands traveling slowly up and down his stomach and thighs. He took my hands in his, and our fingers interlocked. My eyes fluttered shut and I sighed. Completely involuntarily. I just … sighed.

He let go of one of my hands and began to pet me, stroking my hair and my forehead. It was quiet. I could hear birds outside through the kitchen window. A wonderful calm descended on the entire house, or, at least, on the entire kitchen. I could’ve stayed there like that all day, my head in his lap, his cock in my mouth, holding his hand. I could’ve stayed like that forever.

“It’s time, Jamie,” he finally said, and I sat up and wiped my mouth. “How do you want it, baby?”

“I want to face you,” I said. He leaned forward and kissed me again, and continued to kiss me as we lowered ourselves to the table, me onto my back, him atop me. He sat up and placed my ankles on his shoulders and rubbed the head of his prick against my already lubricated entrance.

Our eyes were locked as he slid inside me. He didn’t slam into me like he sometimes does. I like it when he does that, actually, but this was nice too. He was slow this time, gently caressing my thighs as he slid all the way in. He waited for a moment, savouring the feeling. And when he began to thrust, he took his time, was so gentle. I ached with need.

It’s always seemed so natural to us that we should be lovers. Yes, I do know how much we look like each other. It’s quite obvious we’re twins. So, I can’t explain why being together this way has always come so naturally. It just always has.

But there are times when it’s quite clear to me that this is odd. There are times when I remember he was my brother first, not my lover. I remember that most siblings don’t do this, and I wonder if we’re just completely screwed up or something.

And you know, those realizations and questions make the sex that much hotter. I don’t know if it’s wrong. But society has decided that it is. And so I want it more.

I never mentioned these musings to my shrink, by the way. I think you’ve already guessed that she has no clue who Oliver really is. She doesn’t even know his name.

He took my ankles off his shoulders, held them wide apart and away from himself and watched his shaft disappear and reappear over and over. I watched him for a while, admiring him. I love the way he looks naked. I love the way he looks while he’s fucking me; so powerful and in control, and yet clearly on the brink of losing that control. But I had to have him closer. Inside me isn’t enough on its own. I needed to hold him.

“Ollie?” I moaned. His eyes darted up to my face. “Come to me,” I begged. “Let me hold you. Please …”

He let my ankles go and lowered his torso to mine. I wrapped my arms and legs round him, my eyes boring into his. I could see all the colours in his irises again. The green looked softer now, a calming sea green. They were back to normal. They looked like his eyes again.

We stayed like that for quite some time, I’m not even sure how long, just holding each other and gazing at each other and kissing and gently making love. It’s so odd; it took my very own twin to teach me that having sex, fucking, and making love are three different things. We’ve done all three. I thought we’d just be fucking that afternoon. I was wrong.

His face was buried in my neck and he was sucking on the skin there, just above the collar. He was going to leave a mark, I could feel it. He raised up a bit for me so I could touch myself. And he waited. Waited to hear me tell him I was close, waited to hear me tell him I was coming. And he was so close to coming himself, I could tell. But he was waiting for me.

“James …” he breathed, his kisses moving up over my jaw, onto my cheek and to my mouth.

“I’m close, baby,” I gasped. “I’m so close … yes … _yes_ … Ollie …”

With my free hand I caressed the small of his back and his arse and his hip, enjoying their rhythmic steady movement as he pumped in and out of me.

“I love you, James …”

“I love you,” I whispered back. “I love you so much. Come for me, baby.”

“Yes …”

“Come deep inside me, please.”

“Oh, god …”

“I want to feel you explode.”

“James …”

“Ollie …”

“James … oh, god, oh, god, oh …”

He buried his face again and cursed into my neck. His body quivered against me, and I could feel him spurting into me. There’s nothing like that. There’s nothing like the feeling of my brother coming inside me.

He was kissing my neck and still thrusting into me as he emptied himself inside me, and his hot breath was on my face and his moist lips were on mine, and I opened up wide and accepted his tongue and groaned into his mouth. As I began to come, I tore my mouth from his, turning my face away, arching off the table, pressing up against him. I came so hard, it was almost painful. And all through it, there was that deep, sexy voice, murmuring to me, into my ear, against my neck, perfectly audible over my screaming.

When my tremors subsided and I opened my eyes, he was staring down at me.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are when you come?” he said, still panting. I smiled and rolled my eyes. He withdrew and rolled off me, lay next to me, on his side, and gazed down at me.

“Would you like to take that off now?” he asked. My hand went up to my collar.

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

“You really do like it then, eh?”

“Yes. It’s perfect.”

“And he went and got a dish towel and wiped us both off, and we ordered in for lunch, and that’s all she wrote, doc.”

I looked away from her, tugged Oliver’s turtleneck further up over my hickey and then examined my nails. Every time I talk to her about Ollie and me, I think maybe I slipped up somewhere, gave away too much, told her something, that one pivotal thing, that will bring it all together, all the things I’ve told her over time that she’s been writing down, compiling, squirreling away in that shrinky brain of hers. Well, it hasn’t happened yet. But one day, one day, she’ll get that final piece of the puzzle, that one little clue that will make all the other clues fit, and the truth will materialize behind her eyes, coming clearer and clearer, like a Polaroid picture. Every time I tell her about Oliver, I sit and look at my nails and wait for the truth to develop in her mind.

“Ya know what I think?” she finally said.

“No. What?”

“I think you were jealous of him. You used to think he was this perfect, sweet, innocent, angelic guy. And you certainly don’t see yourself that way, so you felt unworthy of him and began to take that out on him.”

I said nothing.

“Now that he’s shown you he can take control and that he’s got a bit of a naughty side, you find him more accessible, more real, more, uh, human, as it were.”

I blinked at her.

“And the best dominant/submissive relationships are between people who are, otherwise, equals. So it would seem that you two being so well matched socially and physically was the perfect foundation for your current relationship.”

“… Interesting theory.”

“Sometimes I do give straight answers.”

 _Ding!_ Time’s up. I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d gotten through another session without her discovering the truth. Why do I dance along the edge of disaster every week? Why do I dangle evidence right in front of her, seemingly begging to be found out? Not sure. I guess some part of me _wants_ to be found out. I think we all have that urge, you know. It’s like when you’re standing on the balcony of a really high building, looking down at the city. You’re terrified of plummeting to your death, sure, but there’s always that one small part of you that wonders about the fall, is curious about the impact …

Or maybe not. I dunno. Don’t listen to me.

“Hey, James?”

I jumped and turned back to her, my hand gripping the office doorknob so tightly, my knuckles were white.

“Um, yes?”

“What’s his name? You’ve never told me.”

“Haven’t I?”

“Nope. I ask, and you avoid the question. Every time. Hiding something?”

“Uh, no. No, I’m not hiding anything. His name is, uh, Martyn. With a ‘y’, not an ‘i’.”

That was the next clue, doc. Follow the breadcrumbs.

“Martyn with a ‘y’. Humph.”

One day, she will make that noise, and I will scoop her eyes out with a spork.

“You should bring him round someday.”

“Really?”

“Why not? He’s been the most important person in your life since you met him, and I feel like I know him already.”

“Uh, well, maybe. Someday, yeah.”

“Great. See ya next week, James.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

And I quickly slipped out of the office.

Who knows? Maybe I _will_ bring Oliver round to the office with me for a session one day. I fear her knowing the truth, yes, but something tells me she wouldn’t care nearly as much as I think she would. Something tells me a lot of people wouldn’t.

END


End file.
